


The Little Things That Matter

by WilmaKins



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Tower, Avengers Tower 2012, Hopeful Ending, Idiots in Love, Jealous Steve, M/M, Pining, Steve POV, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28370364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilmaKins/pseuds/WilmaKins
Summary: It's a few months since Steve was found in the ice and, to put it lightly, he's still struggling. His combative point scoring with Tony is the closest thing he has to an actual relationship, which in itself is pretty sad-And then Tony has the chance to pick his own partner for an 'undercover as a couple' mission...And he chooses Clint.A 'Jealous Steve' story with an optimistic ending, for starksnack
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 28
Kudos: 207





	The Little Things That Matter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starksnack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starksnack/gifts).



> Written with love for starksnack, who wanted to read some Jealous Steve.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Steve felt a little bit guilty acknowledging it, but it was true nonetheless: he quite liked it when Fury called the entire team together at the Tower.

Obviously, given the power to change things, Steve would’ve stopped every one of these crises before they started. He _knew_ it was a bad thing, for Fury to have found something so unknown or so overwhelming that it warranted summoning the Avengers…

But, for as long as these things weren’t in his control, Steve could only admit that the one place he felt comfortable in the 21st Century was at the head of the Avengers conference table.

Maybe it was simply that it was familiar. In a world where everything was strange and wrong and required conscious thought, the confines of the war room provided a perverse sort of safe haven. Seventy years hadn’t changed nearly as much about how all this worked as they had everything else. If it weren’t for the holograms that Tony insisted on using at every opportunity, this could have been one of the strategy meetings that the Commandos had been called to in Washington.

… _Although_ – and Steve felt every bit as guilty, acknowledging this – maybe Tony being here to irritate him with holograms was another reason that Steve liked these missions. Because these missions were the only ones that Tony seemed to bother with. Because it took an official summons and the potential end of the world to drag Tony out of his own life and into a setting where Steve might possibly bump into him…

He glanced across the table to where Tony was sitting, indolently scrolling through his phone. Bruce, Nat and Clint were all still taking their seats, Nick huffing impatiently at the front of the room – but Tony’s attention never flickered. Everything about him radiated a total disinterest in his surroundings, to the point of contempt. It used to annoy Steve, how completely self-absorbed Tony was in group settings. But then Steve had noticed how often Tony piped up with the answer to a problem he’d shown no interest in – or tripped Steve up with something that he _had_ apparently been listening to, hours earlier… So, now it annoyed Steve that Tony pretended to be completely self-absorbed in group settings. That he was, in fact, fully aware of the people he was completely ignoring-

Tony’s eyes snapped up. 

Steve jerked his gaze away, immediately uncomfortable-

And yet.

It was an instinct that thoroughly confused him, but one he couldn’t deny anymore; he _did_ look forward to seeing Tony. Even though Tony annoyed the hell out of him.

Maybe because Tony annoyed the hell out of him.

Because there was _something_ between him and Tony, whether it was a rivalry or a competition or a friendship… something that Steve actually felt a part of. Seeing Tony again always felt like it was adding to the story of _them_ , like whatever happened between them was something that had actually happened in Steve’s life…

It was probably just a sign of how isolated and lonely he still was, all these months after coming out of the ice. Steve could only assume that he wouldn’t be fixating on meaningless interactions with co-workers, if there had been anything meaningful in his life at all. But as it was, he didn’t have any real relationships. He didn’t have any affinities or loyalties of his own, no personal investment in this new world. Nothing harmless or human to think about, when he was done with his responsibilities and trauma for the day… Except for his petty arguments with Tony.

…Which meant he’d become the sort of person who looked forward to crises, because a crisis meant he got the chance to be made uncomfortable by a co-worker.

…Steve was quite pleased that Nick called the room to order before he had the chance to dwell too deeply on that.

“ _This_ , is the Royal Airedale Hotel, Westchester,” Nick announced, gesturing to an image that was projected on the back wall. What appeared to be a perfectly ordinary, glass panelled building, with the obligatory row of national flags over the entrance, and no other discerning features at all. “Right now, a double room in this fine establishment will cost you sixteen hundred dollars a night – if you can get one.”

Steve felt the significance ripple through the room. He guessed it was because the hotel was so overpriced… but he didn’t actually know. The relative value of the dollar was one of those things he still had to manually translate in his head, and even that didn’t help him navigate the different things that people valued, these days. Things that would’ve been considered the height of luxury in the forties were now considered disposable, things that he took for granted as a kid were now rare and sought after and expensive. Knowing what something would’ve cost in forties currency didn’t always help him understand what it was _worth_ , now.

…So, even the war room wasn’t a total reprieve from his issues.

But at least in this room, he could drop his eyes and wait for Nick to get to something he _did_ understand.

“The place first came to the attention of local Vice five years ago, because of rumours that it was a cover for a prostitution ring,” Nick continued. “And maybe it was. Police never found any firm evidence of anything, probably ‘cos they put no effort into finding it. It came to _our_ attention six months ago, when we discovered that it was frequented by this fine, upstanding citizen,” with a wave of his hand, the image behind him clicked through to a mugshot. Steve felt his ribs ease just slightly when he recognised the picture. Eliot Fisk – a mid-level black market arms dealer, listed as a family associate of a criminal organisation that the Avengers themselves had been investigating for weeks.

Back to something he almost knew.

“Turns out, Mr Fisk isn’t the only person of interest to have been spotted in the vicinity of this hotel in the last six months,” Nick added, knowingly.

“Don’t suppose there’s any chance that underground gang-lords just like prostitutes, is there?” Tony cut in, his eyes still fixed on his phone screen. Steve shot him a disapproving glare – and was deeply irritated that Tony didn’t look up to see it.

“Well, that was our first hypothesis, obviously,” Nick replied, sardonically. “The only reason we put a couple of field agents on this was in case it turned up a few more of the people we’re tracking. Except that their investigation turned up – _nothing._ ”

He paused for effect, even though there was no chance that any of them would bite. They all just waited, with varying degrees of impatience, until Nick carried on.

“All traces of all guests, all employees, all third-party suppliers, all wiped from the face of the earth. We have a few eyewitness accounts, a couple of sightings on the surveillance, but absolutely _no_ paper trail. The best forensic accountants can’t figure out how these people pay their water bill – even the Stark tracing programmes found nothing,” and he paused to watch that catch Tony’s attention. Which, of course, it did.

“So, you sent in an undercover…?” Nat prompted. And Nick’s face softened into something more professional – something almost sympathetic.

“Two of our top agents – who have since disappeared.”

Nick stopped to allow the room to settle into a more sober atmosphere. Steve noticed Tony put his phone away.

“Did they make _any_ sort of report?” Nat enquired coolly, after the requisite respectful pause.

“One verbal communication over a civilian phone line,” Nick sighed. “So, we can’t be sure they were free to talk… But, best we can guess, someone is using a kind-of illegal hotel as a base for a more illegal operation – we don’t know if the people at the hotel are involved, or even if they know…” And then he cleared his throat, which Steve knew was a bad sign… “And, unless it was meant to be a code for something, it seems like the place only accepts reservations from couples. Seeing as our agents didn’t know that before they arrived, that might be what got them caught.”

Steve felt the stirring of a different sort of discomfort, low down in his stomach. Already, he didn’t like where this was going…

“So, you want us to find them?” He asked, desperately hoping it could be something that simple.

“Well, we’re still hoping you _can_ find them, if they’re alive,” Nick replied, cautiously. “But we’re pretty sure the only way we’re going to do that, or get any information out of this place, is by getting someone on the inside.”

“You don’t think there’s a chance someone is going to recognise us?” Tony snarked, jumping right to the point.

“ _Ah_ , but _you_ are already the perfect cover for this one, Stark,” Nick grinned. “It’s not _only_ shady underground types this place caters to, you know. Their real clientele is just ‘rich assholes’ – including some of the people you used to socialise with, as a matter of fact…” He raised an eyebrow at Tony, who visibly resisted the urge to wilt under it.

And Steve really didn’t like any of this.

He didn’t like the thought of sending Tony into such an unknown and potentially dangerous situation.

He didn’t much like the way Nick had just spoken to Tony – it felt like taking a liberty, in a way that Steve couldn’t explain.

And he _really_ didn’t like the idea of-

“So, who’s my SHIELD allocated love interest going to be?” Tony challenged with mock joviality, his eyes firmly locked on Nick. Steve cast a furtive glance in Natasha’s direction, an unclean feeling already gathering on his skin.

“Well, as much as we’d like to send Agent Romanoff to babysit you… She’s had run ins with some of these people before,” Nick explained regretfully. “Might draw more attention to you than you’re going to attract already. So, we’re in the process of finding an agent who could possibly put up with you for a few days.”

And Steve’s face was already hardening in preparation for an impassioned objection on Tony’s behalf. He was _just_ in the process of organising his arguments – that some unnamed SHIELD agent wasn’t good enough cover. That Nick was basically asking Tony to act as protection for someone else-

And then Tony shot Nick a combative smile, and suggested,

“Well, if I’m using my salacious past as a cover story, it doesn’t have to be a woman, does it?”

Steve sat up too sharply – he knew he had. He could feel the blank shock that his expression had fallen into. He was sure that Nat, at least, had noticed.

But, before Steve could feel any of the emotions that were probably about to crash over him, Tony carried on, casual as you like,

“Why can’t you send Clint in with me?”

…Clint.

“Clint?” Steve demanded, immediately and angrily, “why Clint?”

And everyone paused, and looked up, and then turned to look at him.

... _Tony_ turned to look at him. 

A scalding heat ran up Steve’s back as he was hit by the sheer embarrassment of what he’d just done. 

He watched, in slow motion, as Tony’s shock sharpened into confusion, and then – God, even worse – began to warm into something like _amusement_ …

Steve clenched his teeth, bracing for whatever joke Tony was about to make at his expense-

And then Clint interjected, in an injured tone,

“Hey, why _not_ Clint?”

“Yeah Steve, why _not_ Clint?” Tony repeated in a sing-song voice. Steve felt his hands ball into fists of their own accord, the blood boiling in his ears. God, if he could’ve hit him-

“Okay, _before_ you all start another pissing contest, maybe we could talk a little bit about the mission specifics?” Nick suggested, irritably. 

Steve let out an impatient breath, and nodded miserably-

And didn’t hear another word, for the rest of the meeting. 

*

Three days later, and Tony was off somewhere getting ready for his undercover mission.

...With Clint.

Steve, meanwhile, was pacing around the gym, throwing a tennis ball against the walls with increasing force. He _had_ been taking his aggression out on the punching bags that SHIELD now supplied by the truckload, but eventually he’d grown numb to the sensation. Not that it really mattered _what_ he was doing. Steve was barely conscious of his body-

He’d spent the last three days inside his own head. 

He really didn’t know why this whole thing bothered him so much. He’d tried to analyse his reaction, but his thoughts simply ran away from him in a thousand different directions, bouncing off of the inside of his mind like this goddamn ball. He didn’t even know what to _call_ this feeling; whether he was anxious or confused or hurt or angry…

Steve had tried very hard to convince himself that this was all just a professional concern – that he’d been awake for three days because he was worried about this mission going wrong.

And he _was_ worried about this mission going wrong.

Whatever their differences, he certainly didn’t want Tony to get hurt. Or Clint, obviously. Or anyone. And it seemed to him that SHIELD was being far too lax about this whole undertaking, given the people involved and the people they’d lost already. Nick was going to prep Tony for this mission with only ‘undecided agent’ listed as his back-up, and didn’t seem to have any contingencies planned for when his communication was cut off, or if he was ambushed – they didn’t even know what had happened to the previous two agents, for God sake-

And _that_ train of thought was the comforting one.

At least when Steve was worried about all that, he didn’t have to worry about why he was worried…

He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he’d completely forgotten what he was doing with his hands. Halfway through another worst case scenario, Steve was shocked back into reality by the tennis ball crashing through the tips of his spayed fingers, narrowly missing his head before it went flying into the gym equipment behind him. A shot of adrenaline jarred his spine straight, his jaw clenching as the bouncing came to a juddering stop and the ball rolled across the floor towards him.

_And you wonder why you aren’t the first-choice mission partner?_

Steve huffed angrily at himself as he bent to retrieve the ball. He was trying very hard to pretend that his professional pride hadn’t been hurt by this. That, _if_ he had any concerns about Tony picking Clint, they were purely practical – that it was only because he thought he had more chance of keeping Tony safe than Clint did…

_You, who can’t hold a normal conversation or recognise half the technology you use or even catch a fucking tennis ball-_

He stopped his thoughts dead, squeezing the ball so hard that his hand ached. If he couldn’t deny that he was insecure, he could at least stop himself from indulging it. Because it _was_ pathetic, to care whether he was the still the obvious choice of mission partner… To feel like it was the last shred of his identity, to worry that this meant he really wasn’t good any anything anymore, to ask himself – if he wasn’t Tony’s first choice as back up, then why would he be anyone’s first choice for anything-

Mindlessly, he threw the ball again, still with too much force. He quite liked the way it stung his palm to catch it.

It wasn’t about Clint. It really wasn’t. And it certainly wasn’t about _Tony_.

…Okay, maybe this hurt more than it would have if anyone else had chosen Clint… Immediately… Without even thinking about it…

But that was only because Steve understood why any of the others would have picked someone else. Of course Nat would pick Clint, they were friends. Bruce, if he’d had to go, would have picked Tony… because _they_ were friends…

And Clint would’ve picked Tony, if Nat wasn’t available, because _apparently_ they were friends-

Again, Steve threw the ball too hard.

He paused when he heard an ominous creaking in the walls, a more immediate guilt consuming him as he waited to see what he’d broken this time.

…He was always breaking things these days.

Defeated, Steve reminded himself that it wasn’t about who was friends with who. That he didn’t care _who_ Tony would rather spend his time with – who _anyone_ would rather spend their time with – than him. That he was _only_ hurt to think he’d lost his professional edge, and really, it was pathetic to be hurt by that-

In fact, it should probably be a comfort, to think that Tony had only chosen Clint because he preferred Clint’s company. That would be better than thinking that Tony just didn’t trust Steve to act as cover for him, in a dangerous situation…

No, it would. Really. Steve couldn’t think of any reason why that wouldn’t be better.

…Although, he couldn’t think of one single occasion that Tony had mentioned spending time with Clint. Or anything particular that Tony had ever said about Clint, really.

…But that didn’t mean that he and Clint _weren’t_ close, now did it? Maybe Tony just never mentioned it.

…Like, for example, how he never mentioned any relationships with men in his ‘salacious past’. Not that Steve cared, obviously, but just as a random example of things that he apparently didn’t know about Tony-

And then there was the very surreal experience of hearing Tony’s voice in his head and out loud at the same time.

“You running a stress test on the building foundations?” Tony sang from the doorway, in lieu of an actual greeting.

And Damn it all, Steve missed the tennis ball again.

He clenched his teeth against the blush that was already running up his neck, his gaze fixed on the wall directly ahead of him – avoiding Tony, standing over to his right, and the angry clattering he’d just set off, somewhere to his left.

He remembered, _Yeah Steve, why_ _not_ _Clint?_ In that same mocking, musical tone. Steve had the same urge to clench his fists.

Instead, he let go of a long, slow breath, before he commented as casually as he could,

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for deployment?”

He went to retrieve his ball, purely to postpone the moment he had to make eye contact with Tony.

“Yeah, they’re waiting for me upstairs,” Tony answered, with a soft laugh. Steve’s shoulders clenched.

“And you’re just keeping them waiting,” he bit out, bouncing the ball at his feet a few times before he looked up.

That low throb of adrenaline spiked up along his back, same as it always did when he saw Tony. Fight or flight – Steve didn’t know which.

“And you obviously have a problem with me going at all,” Tony observed, taking a lazy step into the room. All the hair on the back of Steve’s neck stood on end, his breathing overcoming every attempt he made to control it. All of a sudden he felt strangely _trapped_ – a more immediate, physical instinct than Tony usually inspired in him.

“And you’re interested in my opinion now?” He asked, from absolutely nowhere. Just pulling words in front of him, the way he’d been trained to use any nearby object as a shield, if he had to.

“Well, if you know how I’m about to get myself killed, maybe,” Tony frowned at him, stepping closer.

“I never know how you’re about to get yourself killed,” Steve muttered, through gritted teeth. “You’re unpredictable like that.”

Oh Christ, what was he talking about?

“Well something’s up with you,” Tony informed him. “You’ve been acting weird since I got here. And since you’re apparently waiting for someone to ask, fine, I’m asking – what’s going on?”

There was a flash of blinding panic in Steve’s head, bright enough to blot out his most basic senses.

He didn’t even know the answer to that question.

Steve couldn’t understand why he would feel any of the responses that were crashing over him, _why_ his heart was suddenly racing faster than it ever had in battle, where this urge to flee had come from-

He hated this feeling. All of these feelings. He hated himself for being this hopeless and he hated the whole world for being so difficult and he _hated_ Tony for making him feel this way.

And then, right in the middle of a conflict over whether to try to answer that question or avoid that question or just carry on hating life for forcing that question on him, Steve _heard_ himself snap back,

“Gee, I don’t know Tony, maybe it’s because everyone I ever knew in the world is dead. Or maybe I’m still stuck on that horrific plane crash I was just in, right before I spent hours slowly freezing to death. Or maybe it was waking up on an alien fucking planet where I can’t understand what anyone is saying and I don’t know how anything works and I literally don’t know a single fucking person. Or are you only interested if it’s something to do with you?”

He saw Tony’s features fall, a look of baffled shock welling up in his eyes – and Steve very nearly asked him what was wrong. For one whole second, Steve really had no comprehension of what he’d just said.

And then Tony took a little step closer, and said, _so_ softly,

“Steve…”

It was the sympathy in it. Something so different to the voice that Tony usually used around him – so much so that it almost didn’t sound like him.

It was something that Steve couldn’t bear to accept, and couldn’t bear to decline…

And then he began to recognise the outburst he’d just had…

The connection to the burning in his lungs and the heat flushing his face… and Tony’s reaction…

_Flight_ , Steve decided. He was definitely going with flight.

“Shouldn’t you be getting upstairs?” He spat, physically recoiling from where Tony was standing. He was bitterly aware of how cringingly unsubtle this reaction was, but he’d already been backed into a corner. He _had_ to get out of this conversation, whatever the cost to his dignity-

Maybe that’s why he didn’t stop himself from adding,

“Clint will be waiting for you.”

Tony took another step closer – and Steve actually backed away. He saw Tony’s eyes widen as he settled back into his feet, obviously recognising that Steve _never_ backed away-

“Well, people can wait then,” Tony said, in that same wonderful, unbearable tone

“ _No,_ they can’t!” Steve outright yelled. “The whole world doesn’t just wait for you to decide you’re ready! You can’t just leave a team mate and the whole strategy team upstairs getting angry because you’ve decided you want to have this conversation right now! Not any time in the last three days, no, you want to talk to me _now_. This mission is not one of your private planes!”

Tony looked at though Steve _had_ hit him. His expression flashed open in shock and hurt, his lips parting as though he’d just stopped mid breath. He looked like a child. And then he dropped his eyes, his shoulders slumping slightly in a way that was most unlike him, and for a moment Steve could only feel overwhelmingly sorry for him.

_Oh, what have I done…_

“Just – go and do your job, Tony,” Steve huffed, throwing the ball aside petulantly as he strode past Tony, and out the door.

*

It was 3:42am the following day – or, technically, the day after – and Steve was lying on top of the covers on his bed, still fully dressed, staring at the ceiling.

And he _knew_ it was 3:42am, because he’d checked his phone once every thirty seconds since Tony left.

Steve was driving himself mad with the repetition of it, but every attempt he’d made to stop himself had proven even more stressful. Without that, it was just the endless cycle of ever more horrible thoughts.

_What if he’s hurt, and he can’t contact anyone?_

_What if there was something that Clint couldn’t save him from – what if I_ _could_ _have saved him, and I was too busy sulking to make that point?_

_What if that’s the last thing I ever say to him?_

_…What if I never see him again?_

And Steve didn’t want to answer that question – so he checked his phone again.

3:43am. Still no update.

He sighed and let his arm flop out to the side, not even bothering to put the phone on the bedside table.

Of course, it was no comfort whatsoever to have finally worked out how he felt about Tony. Maybe it would have been, on any other night. As awkward and difficult and destined for heartbreak as it undoubtedly was, on any other night it might’ve at least helped Steve make sense of some things…

Now, all the things it made sense of were just more things to feel awful about.

Steve wasn’t even sure how he’d figured it out. It felt more like remembering something that he’d known forever, something he’d simply forgotten to take into account…

But, obviously, he liked Tony.

…He _liked_ Tony.

And, okay, that wasn’t exactly a straight-forward revelation – Steve _still_ didn’t know why he liked Tony, or what he wanted from Tony, or what to call this attraction he felt to him-

But Steve had worked out – quite comprehensively, and about three minutes too late – that he felt something special for Tony. That he wanted Tony to feel _something_ special for him, that he was very hurt by the idea of Tony preferring Clint’s company to his-

And that, _obviously,_ he was just jealous.

…And there was _nothing_ comforting about the realisation that he had thrown a tantrum, in front of the guy he liked, because he was jealous of a co-worker.

_And it must’ve been so obvious that I was jealous._

_I must’ve looked so childish and pathetic._

_And if that’s the last thing I ever said to him-_

He checked his phone again. Still 3:43am. Still no update.

He threw his head into the pillows petulantly, fighting an urge to fling the phone to the side. Entirely hypothetically, he asked himself when this had happened to him, where the tipping point was between the normal human being he used to be and the emotional wreck that was lying here right now. Did he come out of the ice a completely different person? Had the weeks of confusion and exhaustion chipped away at the man he once was? Had he _always_ been an indulgent, neurotic asshole, and he was only just figuring it out?

…He could not believe he’d developed a _crush_ – on Tony Stark, of all people.

He couldn’t believe he’d fallen into such an unscripted, unhinged rant – in front of the guy he had a crush on.

He couldn’t believe he’d been so unaware, so _bafflingly_ oblivious to his own thoughts and feelings-

He couldn’t believe he’d actually let those feelings put Tony in harms way. That he’d let Tony walk into a mission that he _knew_ wasn’t safe, that he’d thrown Tony’s concentration right before he had to walk into that situation – all because Steve was pretending he wasn’t jealous.

 _Jealous_.

He couldn’t believe that he, a grown man – Captain America, no less – was _jealous_.

He turned his head to glance at his phone again. He’d made it to 3:44am. Still no update.

He clenched his hand a little tighter, more to feel the reality of something against his palm than to disperse any of the building adrenaline. He’d trashed a hundred punching bags before he’d convinced himself that _nothing_ was going to disperse this adrenaline – that it was just going to keep building, for as long as Tony was out there somewhere, trying to keep his cover amongst criminal gang leaders… Unless it turned out to be something much worse than criminal gang leaders…

_…I wonder if ‘keeping his cover’ means he has to kiss Clint-_

_That_ thought was so objectionable that Steve actually sat up under the force of it.

Just the fact that it had even come into his head – that he could really find the space to think something as pitiful and embarrassing as that, right now

….Okay, not just that.

He _didn’t_ like the thought of Tony kissing Clint, as it turned out…

So, that was a horrible thought that he felt horrible for even feeling horrible about, under the circumstances – and he couldn’t even make himself feel better by focusing on the circumstances, because the circumstances were horrible.

_If he’s lying somewhere, dying right now-_

He checked his phone again. 3.45am, and-

And there was a knock at his door.

Steve’s heart seized in his chest, his blood turning to ice in his veins as a dreadful thought took form in his mind.

… _It must be really bad, if it’s something they have to tell me right now, in person._

There was the briefest flicker of a fearful impulse, the strangest idea that he could just ignore it.

He was so scared of what might be on the other side of that door, so sure he already knew … for a second it seemed obvious that he should try to avoid that pain. A basic survival instinct, almost.

It was only that the pain of waiting proved to be so much worse. It was the anxiety of what was about to happen that pushed Steve onto his feet, _towards_ this blow he’d do anything to avoid, throwing the door open with far too much strength-

And there was Tony.

The relief rolled through Steve’s body like a wave of heat, the tension melting away from his joints so rapidly that he felt unsteady on his feet.

In fact, it was possibly only the focusing effect of seeing Tony’s injuries that kept him from fainting.

“What happened?” Steve demanded, cataloguing the blood and bruises he could see on Tony’s arms and chest and neck. That crescent moon cut that seemed to appear under his eye after _every_ battle, but miraculously never scarred-

“It’s fine,” Tony assured him, with a little shrug and a nonchalant shake of his head, his hand already raised to make an entirely different point-

Steve recognised that he was clearly here to say something significant – but he just couldn’t keep his worry from bursting out of him.

“No, but _what_ happened?” He asked again, more firmly, taking a little step closer so that he could look for himself.

…Actually, it might not be that bad.

…None of the cuts were that deep, and he could tell that nothing was broken-

Tony sighed theatrically, drawing Steve’s attention before he explained, almost impatiently,

“We figured out what was going on. We found the missing agents – they’ve been through some stuff, but they’re going to be okay. We collected all the evidence we need, we arrested as many bad guys as there were on the premises, we got into a bit of a firefight when it came to taking them in – but I’m _fine._ Clint is _fine._ Two of the bad guys died of an unfortunate reaction to arrows, but other than that, everyone is fine…”

Steve exhaled softly, as he began to recognise that he wasn’t looking at anything worse than the aftermath of any every-day mission…

And then felt his chest begin to tighten again, as he realised how silly and over the top his reaction had been…

A feeling that kept seeping deeper into him, as he remembered just how many silly, over-the-top reactions he had to be embarrassed about…

He’d spent so much of the last two days worrying about never seeing Tony again, he’d rather forgotten to worry about what would happen when he _did_ …

…It was pretty bad, as it turned out.

“You’re probably going to have to sit through a really detailed debrief about it in, oh,” Tony checked his watch, purely for dramatic effect, “five hours, ish, so…”

A cold sense of dread began to rise up in Steve’s chest, an ominous sense of what was coming…

Oh, Steve really didn’t want to talk about that outburst. Truth be told, Steve hadn’t even _thought_ about that outburst. He’d been so consumed with all the things that outburst had been a cover for, he’d not had concentration left to wonder if there had been any truth in it, or how he would begin to explain it, or apologise for it…

“I’m not here to talk about the mission,” Tony informed him, firming his voice up and purposefully meeting Steve’s eye.

…Oh no.

“And maybe why I _am_ here should have waited until tomorrow, but I’ve been going over this and over this for the last two days, and if I don’t say something soon I think my head might explode,” Tony carried on, “So, really, this is probably just me being selfish. But-”

“Tony,” Steve cut in, not even sure what he was going to follow up with. Just wanting to stop him-

“-I’m sorry,” Tony spoke over the top of him – in _that_ voice, again.

…Oh _no_.

“No, actually I’m sorry,” Steve pushed on, deliberately dropping his eyes so that he wouldn’t see Tony’s attempts to argue with him. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, I…”

Oh, _God_ , he didn’t even know how to lie about this.

He knew he couldn’t try to be honest, obviously – he was quite sure that, if he ever did figure out how to explain the emotions behind that rant, he would never be able to admit them to Tony-

But he had no idea what to say instead.

“…I was just having a bad day,” he surrendered eventually. “And I was just saying _things_ , I wasn’t even thinking about them, really… and it didn’t have anything to do with you, and I’m sorry I took it out on you.”

And then there was a long, eerily empty silence… and Steve began to wonder if, when he raised his head, Tony would have disappeared completely.

But he hadn’t.

He was just standing there, an expectant look on his face, waiting until Steve had reluctantly met his gaze again before he asked, in a perfectly level voice,

“Are you done?”

Steve was almost glad of the stab of indignation that he felt. It was perversely comforting to think that their entire relationship hadn’t changed as a result of his recent revelations.

“Good,” Tony decided for him, when Steve failed to answer. “So, _I’m_ sorry, because I’ve been far too hard on you – actually, because I’ve been a total ass to you, basically since you’ve got here-”

“- _Tony-_ ”

“-And this isn’t about _you_ , actually.” Tony all but shouted over him. “This is about me.”

There was an impatient tug up along Steve’s back, a gathering of tension in uneven, ugly waves throughout his core.

Jesus, Tony _always_ did this.

He was forever catching Steve out with a sudden swerve in the conversation, an unexpected observation, a perfectly relevant question that still seemed to come out of left field-

It was irritating, and uncomfortable, and…

…And quick, and clever, and _different-_

“ _I_ have been a total ass since you got here,” Tony repeated, squaring his shoulders. “I have picked at you, and I’ve wound you up, and I’ve never given enough thought to any of the things that I know you’ve been through – _well_ , there have been plenty of times that I haven’t been thinking about it, anyway…” he sighed, sadly, taking a breath like he was about to add something… and then shaking his head, like he’d thought better of it. “And it doesn’t actually _matter_ whether that upset you or not,” he said instead, before shaking his head again, “well, it _does_ , obviously. But what I mean is – I still did all of those things, whether you noticed it or not. I do know all the things you’ve been through, and even if it turns out that they don’t bother you – well, it should probably have occurred to me that they _might_. They way I’ve behaved is just… bad. So, would you please just let me apologise for it?”

And Steve felt… a little afraid, maybe?

But not _bad_ afraid, necessarily…

“Okay,” he muttered, looking away again. “If you want to, then, thank you, I guess… I mean, I’m not mad at you anyway, so, I don’t know if it’s ‘I forgive you’, or… whatever… But, it’s fine…”

And, okay, he knew that wasn’t a great response. But, honestly, Steve didn’t really know how he felt about that apology…

He just had the strangest feeling that he didn’t want to shut it down.

And he didn’t want to push it. And he didn’t want to _ruin_ it, or react to it in some way he’d later regret committing to…

So, eventually he simply let himself trail off into silence, and waited – not sure anymore whether he was hoping to get out of this conversation or dearly hoping that Tony would carry on.

“Well, it’s not really fine,” Tony sighed. “But… I just want you to know that I know it, and that you _are_ right… And that I’ll try harder, I guess…”

Steve felt himself smile.

“Thank you,” he whispered again, feeling more shy than embarrassed, all of a sudden.

“…And, you know, if you ever _did_ want to talk about… you know, any of that stuff…” Tony went on, his voice sounding tighter and tighter with every word. “I mean, I’m sure there are a thousand people it would be better to talk to, and honestly, I’d probably be no good in that situation at all, but I just mean – I wouldn’t mind trying, if… I just mean that you don’t have to pretend that stuff _isn’t_ happening, I guess…” he trailed off into a cough, the blush glowing brighter over his cheeks.

There was a strangely compelling curl of interest in Steve gut. The sort of discomfort you wanted to pick at rather than avoid…

“I’ll keep it in mind,” he assured, quietly. And then, simply because he couldn’t think of anything else to say, he added, “and, for the record, I _am_ sorry for snapping at you – especially when you were on your way out to a mission. I mean, not that I think I have the power to put you off, or anything, but… I don’t know, it’s probably challenging enough… having to cuddle up to Clint in a criminal den, without me throwing more stress your way…”

And, by that time, Steve knew exactly what he was doing.

As embarrassed as he was that he cared, and as anxious as he was that Tony would see that he cared, Steve simply couldn’t ignore his burning need to know. It was as close as he could bring himself to outright asking – and his desperate hope that Tony would answer him was so much greater than his fear that Tony would guess why he was saying this.

Tony laughed, softly.

“Well, we weren’t playing an especially affectionate couple,” he winced through his smile. “And we weren’t playing a couple for very long, as it turned out… But yeah, that was uncomfortable enough that you really don’t have to worry that you added to it. Honestly.”

“…That bad, huh?” Steve grinned, feeling like he was playing a game of Black Jack – actively asking himself how far he could reasonably push this, before he went bust.

“Well, it could have been worse,” Tony muttered, pinching his lips together in a performative smile. And then he glanced away again, before he added, very carefully, “at least I’m not actually attracted to Clint. That would’ve been more awkward…”

And Steve was very glad that Tony was still averting his gaze, while he was doing his little double take.

 _…_ _that’s_ _why you picked Clint?_

The sudden swell of inexplicable enthusiasm was almost enough to just push that question over Steve’s lips – but, thankfully, Tony carried on before Steve could manage it.

“Anyway, it’s like four in the morning, and all of this could actually have waited until tomorrow – and I’m literally keeping the med team waiting while I do this, so… and that was it, really…”

“You haven’t been to the med team yet?” Steve frowned.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Tony told him once again. Steve swallowed his urge to laugh, before he demanded,

“Well go and get checked out then!”

“I’m going!” Tony exclaimed, with comically exaggerated indignation, showing Steve the palms of his hands as he backed away.

Steve managed to contain his smile until Tony finally turned, and he could safely close the door behind him-

 _Then_ he allowed himself a minute of grinning like a schoolboy.

And _then_ , of course, he made an attempt to pull himself together, a serious tone in his head reminding him that he was still being pathetic and ridiculous, that there were still a thousand reasons his life was completely fucked – some of which had only just surfaced.

…Seriously, he had no idea how he was going to deal with _knowing_ that he had a crush on Tony – he’d made a big enough ass of himself, back when he’d been oblivious.

…But Tony wasn’t dead.

…And Tony didn’t hate him.

…And, apparently, Tony cared about whether he’d hurt his feelings.

…And Tony had only asked Clint to act as his back up because he _wasn’t_ attracted to him.

And, okay, at some point Steve would have to deal with the fact that all of those things were on the same list of things that made him feel better. He wasn’t sure what that would say about him, when he got around to processing it…

But, for the first time in a long time, _something_ made him feel better.

…He’d take that.


End file.
